Growing Up American
by Forbiddensoul562
Summary: Because childhood is often times the best time of someone's life, and Alfred is no exception to this, even being raised by Arthur. A series of one-shot depicting various events of America's childhood. Rated for possible future content. USUK, Fruk later
1. Alfred the Pirate

A/N: I keep getting stuck on USUK ideas, even though I evolved in this series thinking I wanted to, and aiming to, write Rochu fics. I don't know how that happened, actually. But, somehow I keep getting these ideas involving America when he's a kid. I just think he was really cute during that time, and, while it's not always so much USUK stuff in the romance stuff, it's still really cute and you know you can't deny it. I guess that's what I'm really aiming for, with this. To show America growing up with England around, and maybe even without him there. Yeah, it's all probably been done. But I still feel the need to put my own spin on things. So, see what you think, and please let me know! Also, any suggestions you might have, I would love to hear!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or any of the characters used in this fic.

Chapter 1: Alfred the Pirate

"Alfred!" England called out from where he was standing out in the yard of the house America and him currently lived in. England had so many houses around the world, but there was something about being alone out here with America in this vast land that he loved most. Maybe it was the company…

However, the said company had escaped him.

All Arthur had said he was going to do was go make them both some lunch and Alfred had bolted out of the room as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him. Really, Arthur just didn't understand.

"Alfred, really, come now!" He was sure that America would have run outside, and probably to the forests that he always liked to hide in. The thought of the young nation being in the forest always worried him. While America was strong, he was still small and young, and Arthur dared not imagine the small boy getting lost.

It had been ten minutes since he started calling from him, and taking another few steps out and looking around, he was beginning to get worried about him. His eyes looked out at the scenery for a brief moment.

The sight of rolling hills on this land, covered in forests just waiting to be explored would, on any other day, be fascinating to him. But now, he could hardly stand to look that same landscape, because he knew that America could quite possibly be anywhere out there.

And if he was, the prospect of finding him was not a very high chance.

"America!" He called once more.

But when the wind rustling the trees was the only thing that answered him, he felt the way his hope began to fall and his worry level shot through the roof. _'Where is he?'_ He asked himself, then suddenly taking off at a run to the forest.

For once, he didn't care as branches and bushes cut up his clothes as he ran; he was simply too desperate to care at this moment. He kept quiet for a moment as he stopped running, trying to listen for anything in the forest that would tell him where America had gone.

But there was nothing. Only the quiet sound of trees rustling, as if trying to give him some sort of hint in a language he couldn't understand.

Finally, he sighed and ran a hand through his vibrant gold hair and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. _'Why am I so worried?'_ He tried to ration, _'That boy has always come home no matter how long he was gone… H-how could this be any different?'_

As he turned back to head to the house again, he still couldn't help but worry, as any guardian would over their young ward. There were so many things that could happen. And he knew that if anything happened to America, he couldn't forgive himself.

When he finally reached the house again, everything was quiet and Arthur found the house to be much bigger than he remembered it being whenever America was around.

He sulked back into the kitchen, only to stop when his green eyes fell upon the table, which was set for the lunch he'd made for both of them. Arthur was always thankful that he could, most of the time, convince America that his food was good and thus get the boy to eat it. But now, even though it was just a simple light soup he'd made, it even looked gross to him, now.

Suddenly, though, he heard the sound of something bang on the wooden flooring, upstairs, and with that, Arthur felt his heart jump in his chest.

Without needing a second thought, he ran from the kitchen and up the stairs to the room he had heard the sound coming from.

Throwing open his office door, from where he tried to imagine where the sound had originated, he instantly froze at the sight in front of him.

The room, while not being that big, was covered with clothes that had been pulled out of a wood trunk that had sat under the window on the opposite wall ever since this house had been built. There had never been a lock on it to begin with, but England had never expected it to be opened again in the first place. He never _wanted_ it opened again.

In the middle of these clothes was Alfred, sitting on the floor trying to pull on some navy blue, ripped up jacket that was way too big for him. On his head was a three-point hat made of fine material and even had the same feather sticking out of it.

All of the items, however, were not what England was seeing at this moment. They were all non-existent to him. All he saw was that little nation turn to him and instantly smile his bright, childish smile that instantly brightened his sky blue eyes by at least three shades.

"Engwand!" Alfred exclaimed, waving his arms that were still in the jacket, "Look what I found! All these clothes!"

But still England could not comprehend what he was seeing, or what America had gotten himself in to this time. Any anger he might have held if this was any other situation was the furthest thing from his mind. All he could feel at this moment was relief flood his body.

He rushed forward and scooped the small nation up into his arms, hugging him tight despite how much Alfred pushed back against him, "Engwand! Pu' me down!" He complained, but England simply hugged him tighter. The idea of losing America had scared him too much to _not_ act in such a way.

Arthur felt the way Alfred suddenly stopped in his hold, "Hey… you're crying?" He asked, his eyes tearing up in a sympathetic fright.

England shook his head, knowing he might be overreacting a bit letting himself get like this, but who could really blame him? He had been so worried…

Finally, though, he wiped away the tears and put America back down on the ground where he'd been, he himself going over and pulling out the chair from his desk and sitting down –taking the chance to wipe at his eyes before Alfred questioned anymore. "So, what did you find here, hm, Alfred?" He asked him.

America watched him with those wondering, confused, and beautiful blue eye for a moment longer before his attention moved back to his find. "Ah! Look, Engwand!" He readjusted the hat that was too big for him that was on his head. "They was in here. Don't I look brave?"

England smiled, leaning on his hand and crossing one leg over the other and let the many memories come back to him once more. "Those were my clothes when I was a pirate, Alfred." He explained.

Bright eyes moved back to him. "You wasa piwate, Engwand?" He asked joyfully.

England nodded, "Yeah. But my country and I grew out of those days, and thus I don't have any need for them anymore." He shrugged, "I just don't have the heart to get rid of them, I guess, so I left them here."

America smiled and got up and ran over to where he was, nearly tripping on the ends of the coat that trailed behind him. He pulled at England's legs, desperate to get up in his lap. When England finally lifted him and sat him down, he said, "Tell me abou' when you was a piwate, Engwand!"

Arthur laughed, "Well… I used to be the captain of a huge ship, like the ones we see at the docks. And with that ship my crew and I would travel the seas for treasure." The treasure part was true… but he would be lying if he said he hadn't watered it down a lot.

America looked up at him and tried wriggling onto his lap, pulling a bit on his shirt, begging England to finish the story.

England simply flicked the hat America was wearing once, "Not right now, Alfred. Maybe I'll start telling you stories of my pirate days as your bedtime stories." He told him instead, then set him back on the floor.

America looked up at him as if ready to continue protesting, but then spotted something that caught his interest. Picking up the thin string with the half-circle black cup at the end he gave England a confused look. "What's this?" He asked.

England laughed and took it from him, re-adjusting the size of it a bit before slipping it over America's head and covering his right eye with it. "It's an eye patch. All _real _captains wore them." He boasted, sitting back and observing his little pirate nation.

America, in his child-like ignorance, loved this, and thus went back to playing around the room in his new pirate outfit. England smiled, "Alfred, if you promise to be careful with those… you can keep them to play in, okay?"

The smaller nation's smile got bigger if at all possible and he nodded furiously, until his hat fell off his head. "Yeah, I pwomise, Engwand!" He agreed, then going back to playing his pirate games and imagining himself fighting off other pirates and finding buried treasure.

It was almost nostalgic to watch America play in his old pirate clothes. While England always tried not to think of those days, there was something about watching the innocence of a child pretend that made him feel better about it all.

'_What's the worst that could happen?'_ England thought to himself. _'I don't use them anymore, and this way they'll get some good use out them with America. There's no harm in letting a child play dress up once in a while.'_

* * *

A/N: So… if you haven't figured out, each chapter of this is going to be little instances like this. I personally think they're very cute! And if you think so too, I'd love it if you would review and tell me that. Also, if you have any ideas of things you imagine Alfred doing as a child, or the two of them doing together, then please review as well and let me know! All suggestions will be highly considered! Next chapter soon! Let me know what you think!

Please review!  
_-Forbiddensoul562_


	2. Mudballs on Rainy Days

A/N: I don't know what I'm not doing! Am I writing something wrong? Am I not characterizing them the right way? Someone please tell me what I'm doing wrong that leaves not that many people to review. I know Hetalia isn't all that popular of a show yet, but come on! Who denies the cuteness like that? I just don't understand what I'm not getting right, here.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or any of the characters used in this story.

Chapter 2: Mud-balls On A Rainy Day

Alfred hated the rain for so many reasons. Every time it rained he would sit by the window and think over all the reasons that he hated the water that fell from the sky. Sure, all the other kids got to run around in it splashing in puddles and playing other games in it.

But not Alfred. Every time it rained for him Arthur kept him stuck in the house, trying to get him to instead do things like learning to read, or even embroider with him so he wouldn't get dirty; just the thought of embroidery made the little boy shudder.

Pressing his face to the glass, America let out a small huff, which condensed on the cool glass surface, but quickly faded away. He was so bored. What was so wrong with going out and running around in the rain? Alfred didn't think he'd ever understand.

"Ow!" Arthur's sudden start made Alfred turn around, watching as his guardian looked over his finger that he'd accidentally stuck –surveying it for injury.

Alfred pursed his lips, "England, can't I go play outside, today?" He asked, determined to get permission to outside, "It's just a little rain!" If his persistence didn't work, he was almost bored enough to go against what England said and just run outside before his guardian could catch him.

Arthur looked up at him, then his green eyes flicked to the window, "No, Alfred. It's raining." He said simply, and in monotone, as the answer had already been repeated at least five times today.

Alfred huffed, and ran across the room to Arthur, placing his small hands on the older nation's knee. "Please, England? It's just a little rain… Come on, I get more wet in the bathtub, and you never complain about that!" He protested.

England sighed, "There's a difference, America. You can go out after it stops raining."

"What if it never stops raining?" He complained with fear in his voice as his eyes went wide.

England laughed, but didn't look down from his embroidering. "It will stop raining, Alfred. Just give it some time. Don't you want the plants to stay green? They need rain for that, just as much as they need sun." He explained.

Alfred pouted a bit, but tugged on England's pant leg, wanting to sit on his lap. Arthur relented, putting his sewing down and picking Alfred up and placing him in his lap. "So it's like their food, Arthur?" Alfred asked, looking up at him with those big blue eyes.

England nodded, resting back in the chair, "Yes, that's right. They don't eat food like you or I." He let out a small yawn. "Their food is water and the sun. The best thing for us to do while we wait for the rain to stop, though is to just relax inside. Maybe," He yawned once more, leaning back and closing his green eyes, "Take a nap."

The smaller nation stayed quiet, watching as England rested. He listened to the way his breathing became quieter, and more labored. He knew that his guardian was sleeping, now.

Alfred turned and looked back at the window. The rain had stopped quite a bit from the torrential downpour it had been at earlier, till it was now just a light sprinkle. Even the clouds were a lot lighter, and looked as though they were going to disperse soon.

'_This is soon enough! I'm sure the rain will stop soon!'_ Alfred thought as he began to climb down off of England, carefully so that he wouldn't wake him up again. _'And so long as England doesn't wake up, he'll never know!'_

Once he was on the ground again, America ran out of the living room, and through the entrance hall to the closed front door. As silently as he could he pulled it open, letting in a wave of warm, humid air that washed over him.

After he stepped outside he pulled the door closed once more, then exhaled a sigh of relief. He'd made it! It felt wonderful to be outside again after being trapped inside all day.

He ran down the steps to the dirt path just below it, but instantly he stopped when his bare feet touched the path. Instead of it kicking up dust, or even being a solid path for that matter, the dirt had turned into sticky, soupy mud.

Alfred looked down, squishing his toes around in the mud with a new found interest, and completely ignoring the light rain that drizzled down onto his head.

He sat down in the mud without a care for the state of his pants, and reached his hands into the sticky mud –instantly loving the way it felt between his fingers, and the sound it made as it plopped back into the mess on the ground; successfully splattering bits of it onto his shirt, pants, and even his face.

He picked up another handful of the muck, beginning to form it into a circle. _'It's like a snowball, only with mud!'_ He thought to himself, but setting it down anyway. Finding that he liked the look of it as a circle, he began making more little circular mud pies.

After a little bit, Alfred had a number of the balls of mud all lined up around him; after a while they would begin to soak back into the mud, as the rain made them fall apart –but Alfred made sure to keep them all as solid as he could.

'_Hm… I need some way to hold these together so they don't fall apart anymore.' _He told himself, watching as the raindrops hit one of his mud-balls and slowly the shape began to fall apart again.

'_I know!'_ It suddenly hit him. _'I'll put them in the oven! That way they get hard and don't fall apart!'_ He said, thinking that the heat from the oven would make it stick together rather than just make it turn back into dirt.

He picked up two of the mud-balls and stood up, dripping with mud, but ascending the stairs to go back inside the house. He grabbed the gold doorknob with one muddy hand and turned it, entering into the warm, calm, and quiet household without a second thought.

Quietly, he moved into the kitchen, so he wouldn't wake Arthur up, who he figured was still sleeping in the living room. He went to the black iron oven that sat on the far side of the kitchen, still balancing the multiple mud-balls he had in his hands.

He turned the heavy handle to open the oven door, but he suddenly misjudged how heavy the door was, and it slipped from his hand, creaking loudly on its hinges and banging open –sending the loud bang sound echoing throughout the house.

Alfred froze, his whole body going tense as he listened. He knew Arthur was a light sleeper, so there was no way that wouldn't wake him up. But what should he do?

'_I should run!'_ He told himself. _'Yeah! Run back outside before England sees I was messing with the oven!'_ However, he couldn't bring his body to move, as he heard the sound of Arthur moving in the next room over.

"Alfred?" Came Arthur's voice, and if possible the small nation froze even more.

He watched suddenly as Arthur came in view of the opening to the kitchen. He saw the way those green eyes first silently landed on him, then down to the floor, where muddy footprints carried the proof of what Alfred had done.

Alfred had just enough time to swallow before England finally exploded.

"Alfred! You stupid, stupid boy!" He shouted, sending a glare to America. "You went outside after I clearly told you not to! Now look at you! You're covered in mud! Are you daft, boy? Is that why you oppose me?"

"N-No…" Alfred answered; his body still rigid with fear.

England huffed, "Come on. You need a bath. You're disgusting." He told him, going over and grabbing the muddy America by his hand –causing him to drop the balls of mud he'd made. "Then you're going to help me clean the floors!"

"But I don't wanna bath!" He complained, trying to pull back against Arthur's tight hold.

"I don't care." Was all he called back, as he began dragging Alfred up the stairs to where the bathroom was.

Once there, he turned on the water for the tub, as Alfred stood in the corner and began shedding the muddy clothing off of his body, though his mud-slicked hands didn't help to make him any cleaner. He felt ashamed for going against England, but all he'd wanted was to go outside…

Once he'd shed all his clothing he went over to the tub and carefully got in, trying not to look at England, who was sitting by the side. Of course Arthur wouldn't let him bathe alone –not when he was this dirty.

Not a second after he'd sat down in the warm water did England dunk a cup in the water, "Close your eyes." He hardly gave him a second before the water was dumped over his head –drenching him and getting in his eyes.

"England…" He complained, rubbing at his eyes, ignoring that they were still muddy and not getting mud on his face.

Alfred suddenly heard a chuckle from England. "Look at me, you git." He chided, though this time the older nation's tone was calmer, much more relaxed, even to the point to sound much like it did when he was playing around with America.

Out of curiosity, Alfred opened his eyes and looked over at England, who was leaning against the side of the tub with a small smile playing on his face. He suddenly pressed a wash rag to Alfred's face, beginning to wash the brown muck off his face.

"How you ever manage to get so dirty so quickly I will never understand, Alfred…" England said in that same calm tone.

"Does this mean you're not mad at me for makin' my mud-balls and getin' dirty, England?" He asked quietly, in his ashamed tone that he knew was usually too cute for England to stay mad at.

The elder nation chuckled, "No… I guess I'm not mad." He said with a small sigh, continuing to rub the brown off America's face. "But you have to start listening to me! When I tell you no, that means no. You hear me?"

America nodded, just as England moved a bit, dumping another cup of water over his head. "So… I'm forgiven?" He asked happily.

Again England chuckled, "Don't think you're getting out of your punishment that easily, America. You're still going to help me clean up the mess you made! Maybe that'll teach you not to bring mud into this house."

* * *

A/N: Argh, I'm really not happy about that ending. Then again am I ever happy about endings? No, it doesn't seem that way. Anyway, any thoughts or criticisms you have are more than welcome, as are any ideas you might have for later chapters. Haven't yet decided what the next chapter is going to feature, but we'll see what I can think of. Or, if you contribute an idea, maybe that'll be what I use. We'll see. Let me know what you think!

Please review!  
_-Forbiddensoul562_


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